


A Night in the Portfolios

by shutitloveactually, TheCrazyGeek



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Late night sexytime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutitloveactually/pseuds/shutitloveactually, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrazyGeek/pseuds/TheCrazyGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late nights at the office...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night in the Portfolios

**Author's Note:**

> First time we've worked together on a fic and we hope you like it :)

Two furtive figures entered the empty office building, armed with an Indian takeaway and a bottle of single malt. It wasn't quite Downing Street, but everyone was thankful that their new premises in the midst of the political heartland wasn't some godawful steel and glass monstrosity. Save for the security and cleaning staff, everyone had left long ago to join the lavish party laid on at an exclusive Westminster club. Malcolm Tucker and the Right Honourable Nicola Murray, newly elected Leader of the Opposition, made their way along the darkened corridors to the Director of Communication’s office.

“Thanks for this, Malcolm. I don’t think I could stand any more arselicking from those two-faced Nutter bastards tonight,” Nicola sighed, leaning her head against the wall once they were outside Malcolm’s office. “I can’t thank you enough for your help in the leadership campaign either. It was looking pretty hairy for a while there; I honestly thought I’d lose out to that fucking shiny android Miller.”

“No bother pet, it does a man good to be some damsel’s shinin’ knight every once in a while and this wee midnight feast will do for starters. Ma belly thinks ma fuckin’ throat’s been cut,” Malcolm replied as his stomach grumbled at the smell of the food, trying to remember when he’d last eaten. He was still wondering why he’d thrown his lot in with Nicola, contemplating the reasons behind his decision even as the final count came in and he started his familiar dance with the various media outlets. It certainly wasn’t for her political prowess, that was for sure. He sneaked a glance at her ample cleavage as she adjusted herself to the weight of the bags she carried while he fumbled for the office key, going some way to answering the question.

Once they were safely inside the confines of Malcolm’s office, he locked the door, hung his coat and jacket up and flopped down onto the leather couch, stretching his long legs out and kicking off his shoes as he laid his weary head down on an armrest.

“Sort the food out will ye, love?” he yawned as he loosened his tie, the lack of sleep showing clearly on his pale, lean face. He managed to dodge the paper napkin Nicola threw at him.

“I’m not your bloody wife,” Nicola grumbled good naturedly as she set various containers out on Malcolm’s antique mahogany desk and grabbed some cutlery from his pantry, idly wondering what domestic life with Malcolm Tucker would be like. “Ask not what your country can do for you, I suppose.”

“That’s the fuckin’ spirit. Talkin’ of which, let’s partake of the auld water of life,” Malcolm grinned, getting up to take care of the good stuff. Carefully retrieving the prized Edinburgh Crystal from the bottom drawer of his desk, he made sure that Nicola couldn’t see the dossier on her husband that he kept hidden there. The woman herself was so straight you could use her for a fuckin’ plumb line, but her bent husband was another matter. Malcolm poured two generous measures of Talisker and passed one glass to the new Leader of the Opposition. “A toast.”

“To us,” Nicola said as she raised her glass, meeting Malcolm’s gaze from across the desk and kicking her own shoes off as she sat down in the spare chair.

“Slange.”

They both tossed the expensive whisky down their throats, Malcolm marvelling at Nicola as she barely winced at the peaty liquid. There might be hope for her yet he mused, picking up an onion bhaji. Soon enough they’d demolished their food, too busy with the act of eating to talk much. Nicola couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a decent meal either, savouring each bite as if it were her last.

Supper consumed, Malcolm leaned back in his leather chair and rubbed his belly contentedly. “Just what the doctor fuckin’ ordered,” he declared happily.

Nicola giggled, the whisky already taking an effect. “I know Scotland isn’t exactly known for its healthy lifestyle, but I guess a good curry is one way to get some vegetables into your fellow countrymen,” she teased.

“Get tae fuck, Murray,” he retorted, grinning. “Some of the best curry houses in the land are in ma hometown. Did ye know that the tikka fuckin’ masala was invented in Glasgow?” Malcolm drained his glass and poured them another large measure.

“I didn’t know that, but somehow I’m not surprised,” she replied as she took a large swig from her glass. This time it was Nicola’s turn to dodge the paper napkin, which saw her overbalancing on her chair and falling backwards onto the floor with a loud crash.

Malcolm was by her side in an instant. “Jesus Nicola, are ye hurt?” he asked, concern showing in his icy blue eyes as he kneeled down beside the prone figure.

Nicola merely giggled again as she lay there on the floor. “I’m fine,” she replied. “I guess all the alcohol you lot drink up north must save the NHS a fortune in broken bones. Remember that cartoon, the Raggy Dolls? I feel like one of them.”

“Aye, you remind me of that fuckin’ Sad Sack. C’mon, take ma hand,” Malcolm replied as he pulled her up. “What’s with all the anti Scots patter, anyway?”

Nicola reached over to the desk and emptied her glass. “Oh, I dunno. You are a tough man to rattle, but I think I may have found a chink in that Celtic armour” she grinned, refilling her glass and knocking it back in one go. Malcolm gently prised the empty glass from her hand, put it on the desk and turned her around, long bony fingers on her shoulders.

“Oh, really? Ye’ll have tae try harder than that, ya dirty soft Sassenach. Remember, Ah come from a country where people use the word cunt as a term of fuckin’ endearment,” he breathed, gazing intently into her soft brown eyes.

The two of them stood there for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them willing or able to look away or move as the air around them buzzed with unspoken longing. Nicola could feel her knees trembling like leaves in the wind as a warm knot started to form in her abdomen. Malcolm wasn’t faring much better as he felt his erection come to life, hypnotised as he was by Nicola’s eyes.

It was almost as if someone had flipped a switch; suddenly Malcolm and Nicola were not so much kissing as attempting to devour each other’s faces, each trying to outdo the other with lips and tongue. Malcolm manoeuvred Nicola over to the couch, laying her down gently as he slid off her stockings and underwear, his eyes filled with unfettered lust and longing. Nicola sighed with pleasure as he caressed the insides of her thighs with his long fingers and leaned over to plant a gentle kiss on her mound. He moved up her body, slowly unbuttoning her blouse to place little butterfly kisses on her torso and breasts as he made his way to her neck, the feel of his breath on her bare skin making her shiver uncontrollably and fuelling the already smouldering fire between her legs.

“Ah’ve wanted this for so long. Are ye sure this is what you want too?” he breathed, his thin face again showing concern as he looked into her eyes again. Nicola swore that Malcolm could see right into her soul at that moment and already knew the answer. She felt as if her heart was in her throat as she swallowed and lifted her hand to rest on his cheek.

“More than anything,” she replied, bringing his mouth down to hers.

Their lips met slowly, hesitantly, moving only fractionally at first as though neither had done this before. Malcolm's hands cupped her face and Nicola almost sighed at the unexpected wave of comfort that engendered. Being held in his hands. Safe. Warm. Not the way she'd ever expected to feel around Malcolm.

She barely noticed his hand ghosting down across her body, consumed with the feelings sweeping across her, but when his long fingers slid between her legs and gently coaxed them open she gasped and dug her fingers into his back. Malcolm chuckled softly and kissed down from her lips, across her cheek, jaw, and then onto her neck where he started biting oh so softly. Tugging at her skin with his teeth, his fingers now teasingly circling her clit in between dampening his touch with the wetness building up inside her at his skilful handling of her body.

It may have been the drink, or sheer disbelief of the situation, or even Malcolm having the skills of a ninja, but they'd managed to get almost entirely undressed without noticing it too much. No ripping of fabric or tugging of buttons, he'd even managed to get her bra off without hassle. It was pretty obvious what this was heading toward and for a split second Nicola wondered how he'd react if she said “No, stop”.

That thought vanished as soon as his hands wandered over her body and his mouth lowered to her neck to nip at the flesh there.

Nicola tried to work out an arrangement of limbs and Malcolm's body against hers which would hide the parts of her she wasn't confident about. She'd done this often enough with James when he'd started looking at her with near disgust after their third child was born. Men didn't go for cellulite or fatty parts, he'd said, and she'd made a point from there on of always keeping a bit of clothing on during sex to hide those parts.

However, since Malcolm had removed all their clothing, she couldn't do that and so she moved her hands and legs to try and hide the worst.

Malcolm realised what she was doing and gave a sigh and sat back for a minute. "Nic'la, don't be ashamed of a few fucking stretch marks. I'll fucking spank you if you keep trying to cover up. I'm about tae have sex with you, all of you, stretch marks and all."

"I don't disgust you?" Her voice quivered minutely.

"Jesus Christ, I bet this is from that fucking twat ye married eh? Telling you tae look like a Playboy model because that's all his tiny pecker will respond to?" Nicola nodded. "Right, then I'm going tae show you how wrong that twat is."

Malcolm laid her down onto the floor gently and lowered himself down onto her body. “I dunno how ye like it lass, if I were 20 years younger I'd be bendin' ye over my desk and screwing yer brains out.”

“But as you are so old?” Nicola chuckled and gasped shortly after as long talented fingers tweaked her breasts in retaliation.

“Then,” Malcolm purred in her ear, “we'll have tae see if age brings wisdom yeah?”

The streetlights filtering through net curtains softly illuminated them as they rolled together on the floor, stroking and then kissing with all the pent-up tension they had.

Nicola froze as she realised that somewhere in that long moment, Malcolm had slid inside her and was just there. Not moving or thrusting, just buried hilt-deep in her while her internal muscles quivered and fluttered to accommodate him. She looked up into his eyes and saw him realise the same.

"Oh fucking shite, ye never agreed." His face screwed in an expression of utter dismay as he started to pull back out of her.

Nicola retaliated by wrapping her legs around his and pulling him in tight against her.

"Nic'la?" he breathed

"Don't," she replied, grinding herself against him. "Don't leave."

Malcolm's eyes closed briefly and then opened again with a look Nicola had never seen before. Need. Rampant bloody need and it was directed at her. She exhaled a long breath as he slowly drew back out of her and then moaned as Malcolm pushed forward again, her arousal seeping around him while he started up a slow rhythm.

In, out, in, out, as regular as clockwork. Malcolm's face was buried in the crook of her shoulder and she could hear his excited breathing in her ear; keeping perfect time with her gasps and demands for him to go harder.

Never had she expected this. Her sexual fantasies that haunted her mind at inappropriate times always had Malcolm as a kind of human furnace of lust and angry sex, snarling profanities as he took her roughly across his desk. The man on top of her now slowly moving in her and practically nuzzling her neck was a real surprise. Was this the side he never let anyone (aside perhaps from Sam) else see or was it just drunk and tired sex for him?

As he shifted and started rubbing that melting spot inside her, such thoughts were swept out of her mind as all she could do hold onto him tightly, bracing herself against the orgasm she could feel bubbling up inside her.

Judging by Malcolm's breathing as he huffed short breaths into her hair, he wasn't going to be far off himself. He finally broke the verbal silence after he'd gained another moan out of her.

“Not going to fucking stop until ye come. At least once.”

His hand slid between them and circled her clit as he thrust relentlessly into her. She couldn't hold on and swore loudly as he bit her neck and sent her flying over the edge of an incredibly powerful orgasm. Nicola scratched her nails down Malcolm's back, thrashed under him as his fingers continued their delicate dance between her legs and came like nothing before.

In the haze of post-orgasmic bliss she felt Malcolm thrust himself hard against her, then shudder and groan through clenched teeth while she felt his cock pulsate inside her.

They collapsed, panting hard and still wrapped around each other. Nicola didn't quite know why she started running her fingers through Malcolm's short grey hair but she'd never forget the almost purring noise he made as her fingernails raked across his scalp.

Malcolm broke the silence. “Ye've got grey as well, so don't pretend like mine is the first you've seen because I can call you a fucking liar from this angle.” He ruffled her hair as he sat up and patted the floor around him, searching for his glasses and clothes.

In a decent amount of time they were both dressed again and Nicola ran a comb through her hair so she'd look a little less like she'd just been shagged in the office. Malcolm just wished she'd go; he'd not planned this and was never comfortable with any situation he personally hadn't masterminded. But when Nicola hugged him and thanked him for the evening he froze, his political brain spinning up and suggesting the words that would make Nicola Murray leave and deny this ever happened.

He'd done this before with women (and men) in politics; a quick leg-over to get a leg up and never mentioned again, but none of them had hugged him after.

“So, what do you advise Malcolm?” Nicola said, her voice muffled against his chest. “You know, about what we just did? You're the one with all the answers.”

Typical bloody MPs, making it all his responsibility yet again. Malcolm sighed and dropped his chin down to rest on the top of her head. “Look Nic'la, if you want to deny this ever happened I'll not say a word; if you want to go back to that cunt of a husband of yours who treats you like shite – that's your business-”

“-and if I wanted to do this again?”

“I'd keep it out of the papers for you. It would make me look bad if it got to them anyway, not having my fucking sex life in the papers and if you're smarter than you look you'll keep yours out of them too”

A long silence descended as they stood there, neither wishing to end the moment. Finally Nicola stretched and looked at her watch, reluctantly breaking the embrace. “I'd better go, it's late and the kids will be wondering again where I am.”

“Do you want to do this again sometime or not?” Malcolm asked brusquely, shrugging into his overcoat and rubbing his face to delay the impending hangover.

Pausing at the door on her way out, Nicola turned and smiled smugly at him. “No promises Malcolm. We’ll see though,” she winked as she gently closed the door behind her.


End file.
